Bad Company: Operation Gunslinger
by Trooper 3.6
Summary: The boys of Bad company are sent to Italy on a recon and observation mission.  They soon find out that the so called friendly nation of Italy has a dark secret, soon the fate of a nation and six brainwashed girls are in Bad Company's hands.
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes: Hello loyal fans I know I'm still not done with a few other fanfics for gunslinger girls but I've had this in the planning stages for a while and I figure I need to get going on it. I'm working on a few other fanfics but with work and all it can be hectic. Well here we go a cross between one of my favorite animes and one of my favorite video games. Gunslinger Girl and Battlefield Bad Company. Enjoy and please review.

ITALY, outside Rome.

Preston Marlow looked through the scope of his assault rifle. The building he saw through the thick brush and trees looked very old, he'd almost think it was some kind of monastery from the architecture. It probably was until it was bought by the Italian government. He turned to an adjacent building it looked very new, state of the art kind of new; Sweetwater could probably figure it out. The second building was about five stories high with a glassy exterior shimmering in the late morning sun, an odd counterpart to the rustic old relic nearby. The two buildings just didn't fit together; Preston decided he liked the older one better.

"That second building looks like a medical facility Sarge," said Sweetwater, crouching to Preston's right. "I've seen the design before, very popular in the EU." Sweetwater might have been able to talk a bullet into most people's heads, but he did come in handy. So handy in fact, that if he'd learn to stop griping he really wouldn't be so bad. He'd even look more soldierly if he'd just wear contacts instead of the birth control government issued glasses; the kind Clark Kent would wear.

"EU... What kind of geek talk is that?" asked Haggard to Preston's left. Haggard was a classic hillbilly. He refused to shave, wore a stocking cap instead of a Kevlar helmet like Preston and Sweetwater. Haggard's tactless gung-ho attitude toward blowing things up (enemy and friendly) earned him the coveted craziest soldier in BAD COMPANY; US Army 222nd Battalion, B-Company. Despite being reckless, his coolness under fire and encyclopedic knowledge of explosives makes him an invaluable asset in combat.

"European Union, Haggs!" Sweetwater growled in reply, actually with his voice it came off sounding like a high pitched whine than a growl. Sweetwater's fussy demeanor was annoying but somewhat understandable. He had joined the US Army for the college opportunities and benefits; with his intelligence and computer skills he figured he'd be kept in the rear with the gear (where he liked it). But then he accidentally infected a secured military network, which he wasn't supposed to be accessing in the first place, with a virus. Before he knew it he was dodging bullets and mortars in Bad Company, surrounded by people he was sure were just as likely to kill him as the enemy. B Company of the 222nd Battalion was the army's junk yard, it was where they put all their misfits and trouble makers deemed expendable by the high command. A lot of the boys of Bad Company could probably been sent to prison for what they did, but the army needed cannon fodder so the B Company just happened to fit the bill.

"What's that some kinda labor union?" Haggard asked. "I sure as hell never heard of it." Haggard was the best man in the army for making big and dangerous things go boom, but unfortunately his stubbornness and backwoods disposition sometimes bogged down his more likeable character traits. It was Haggard's obsession with explosives that got him transferred to Bad Company; he blew up the officer's latrine at his base camp. After seeing the result of boredom on Private Haggard, his chain of command decided to send him someplace where he'd never go bored. Bad Company definitely took care of the boredom problem, but no one ever wanted to work with the man; and it wasn't because they didn't like country music. Haggard may have helped increase Bad Company's mission effectiveness but he also increased the unit's mortality rate (already the highest in the army), unintentionally of course.

"Seriously man, am I the only person in this squad who knows his history?" Sweetwater asked exasperated. "Alright look, after the second world war..."

"Oh, just shut up! Both of you!" the African American Sergeant interrupted. "Let's try to stay on task here." Preston thanked God for Sarge sparing them all another study session with Professor Sweetwater. Who else in the entire US Army could tell you where the name Cossacks (Russian cavalry) came from, or name all four Japanese aircraft carriers sunk at the battle of midway, or that in World War Two, the allies almost made an aircraft carrier completely out of ICE? And history was just the tip of the ice berg with Terrance Sweetwater, a few days fighting beside him and you'd be ready for pretty much any college exam.

"You, got the camera ready Sweetwater?" asked Redford.

"Sure thing, Sarge," Sweetwater replied, as he fished the advanced digital camera the Special Actions Division had given them for the mission. "What you think is so special about this place, Sarge?" asked Sweetwater. "I mean it has to be important right? Or else they wouldn't have sent us in."

"What are you asking me for?" Redford snapped. "You think they told me any more than the rest of you?" Despite Sweetwater's ability to become a human encyclopedia at will, Redford was the real brains of this squad; and he knew it too...not that he had to like it. He was supposed to be retired all most a year ago, but one thing led to another and here he was, still in Bad Company, still doing whatever suicidal odd jobs the army wanted him to do and still with the same squad; which he no longer particularly minded, this bunch never seemed to die (unlike all the other squad's he'd been part of in Bad Company). They were an odd ball team to say the least but they seemed to have something that all the rest of Bad Company didn't, LUCK. Luck that would make a rabbit's foot sob with envy.

Sergeant Samuel D. Redford, Squad lead of C squad, was a career man. He'd always loved being in the army and what it stood for, until he was attached to Bad Company and he realized how much the army had changed. To everyone's surprise, Redford was the first soldier in history to volunteer for Bad Company. He had made a deal to cut his career short, but as it turned out the only thing he figured cut short had been his life. He was disgusted with the army for the way they treated Bad Company, as far as command was concerned they were all nothing but expendable assets. Sarge had to admit that most of the soldiers in Bad Company were pretty bad, but not nearly bad enough to deserve what they were getting; not in Redford's book anyway. He had grown to trust and even admire his present squad though. They made him crazy, but after all they'd been through there is no one else in the army he'd rather be with. All four of them knew it, even though the man would never say it himself.

"He's got a point, Sarge" Preston pointed out. "Why else would command send us in? The Italians have got to be up to something here, and since they're technically one of our allies it's got to be something big." Private Preston Marlow was the more sensible side of the four, his grasp of logic and relatively easy going mentality also made him the more likeable side. He'd been the glue that held the team together several times and his coolness under fire added to his comrade ship with the squad. He had been anxious to follow family tradition of joining the army in a time of war, defending his homeland, his family and his friends. Fighting for Truth Justice and the American way and what not. Unfortunately once he got in he realized the undeniable truth that being in the army involves a lot of boredom, when you're not under fire that is. After several weeks at a base camp in Europe, doing nothing, his boredom finally got the better of him. He liked to tell himself that if he'd just parked that chopper a few yards to the left no one would have ever noticed. Instead of sending him to prison, they sent him to Bad Company. This had at least kept him from dying of boredom, at one point he'd even gotten a chance to improve on his piloting skills.

The squad had been through impossible missions against overwhelming odds. They had been the spearhead in taking entire towns from the Russian military, battled through and behind enemy lines, invaded a sovereign nation, decimated an entire Private Military Company (PMC), destroyed a lost weapon of mass destruction from World War Two and halted an entire Russian Invasion force; all single handedly. The four men were, without a doubt, a proverbial "Band of Brothers". None of them, not even Sweetwater, would be moved or reassigned to any other squad if they had any say in it. All of them knew that after how far they had come and all they had been through to get there, they could depend on each other.

Naturally the squad's skills, endurance, reputation for being unorthodox and pure dumb luck had not gone unnoticed by the high command. Squad "Bravo-One-Charlie" had been recruited by Special Actions Division for a black op in the country outside Rome. It went against all logic that they should be taken out of the combat zone, while still fighting off an invasion in Alaska, to hoof it through the Italian backwoods just to take pictures of a government complex. But after all they had been through in South America the squad had no intention of complaining about being assigned away from the fight, even though they all sensed something funny about the whole thing. They were just glad to not be under fire for a change. Preston just hoped it would stay that way.

"Look let's just get those pictures command wants and get out of here," Sarge sighed. "You're probably right though, this could very well be something big and with that in mind we should get this over with quick. This isn't like Saduristan, this isn't just a neutral nation; it's a sovereign nation and a partner of ours in the UN," Sarge explained. His seasoned wisdom made up most of his strength in leadership, although most might argue that it was his no nonsense attitude and his witty commanding nature. "Do you have any idea how many, treaties we are violating here? If we get caught, our Uncle Sam will deny all knowledge of us. At that point they'll probably label us terrorists, which will be easy to do with all the terrorist attacks going on in this country."

Sarge was right. Preston had heard in a news bulletin once that the Italian peninsula was considered by some to be the Belfast of the 21st century. The Five Republic's Faction, the Red Brigade, corruption in the government, not to mention the mafia selling arms to the terrorists. Not that Italy would have lifted a finger to help the US against the Russians otherwise. But Italy was in up to its neck in a world of shit at the present time. The four of them getting caught creeping around in the woods outside Rome taking pictures of some government installation wouldn't end very well for them. Command had even ordered them not to open fire at all, which with this squad was kind of asking a lot.

"They'd better appreciate this Sarge," said Sweetwater as he snapped a photo of both buildings from his vantage point on a fallen over tree trunk. "I got a really bad feeling about this."

"You got a really bad feeling about this," Haggard mockingly repeated. "Do you ever have anything good to say? I swear you're always so negative. We're finally doing something other than taking on the whole Russian army single handedly and all you can do is complain!" Haggard finished and huffed a sigh from behind the trunk of a pine tree.

"Come on Haggs, even you have to be able to tell that something is rotten in Denmark." Sweetwater insisted as he placed the camera back in his bag. "With the Russians still gunning for Alaska, why would they send their number one dirty job unit off to spy on a friendly nation when we could be raiding some Intel center or supply base up north? This can only mean serious trouble here!"

Haggard pause for a moment in thought. "Well we're not in Denmark, but I see what you're saying," he said with a nod. "But with that in mind, why not just send in the CIA or someone trained for spying?"

"They told us that already, remember, because if we do get caught we'll be easier to pass off as mercenaries; we do have a history of going AWOL," Sarge explained.

"That's command's polite way of saying, 'because you're easily replaced and you won't be missed'" said Sweetwater. "We ARE Bad Company remember?"

"Let's just get this over with," Redford growled. "I might have that fishing trip yet," he said. Redford had been counting down the days until he retired to the Caribbean for way too long. He didn't love his country any less, but he still couldn't wait for the day the only thing he'd be fighting would be marlin and blue fin tuna. "Let's move to our next vantage point. Preston, lead the way."

Preston nodded and led the team further into the woods. The canopy of evergreens over their heads shielded them from the mid-summer sun. Of course the sun wasn't nearly as bad here as they had experienced it in the deserts of Turkmenistan and the jungles of South America but still would have been unpleasant; unpleasant enough to get Sweetwater going anyway. Preston couldn't complain. As crazy as most of their missions were, he would never trade any of it for sitting around in that base camp twiddling his thumbs. Besides Sweetwater was right, something about this whole thing just didn't add up. And with the Russian Army on the brink of taking Alaska, trouble with Italy would not be a good thing for the US's interests in Europe.

The more he thought about it, the more urgent Preston felt as he crouched and pushed his way through bramble and past tree trunks. He wasn't even sure which made him feel more urgent, finding out what was going on at those two buildings or snapping all the photos Intel needed and getting out of there before trouble showed up. And given the nature of the mission, it's location and not to mention the fact that some CIA spooks stopped them before getting on the chopper back at Naples and told them that once this mission was over it was over and threatened them with treason if they ever told anyone in the civilian or military world about anything they may witness in Italy, Preston wasn't particularly interested in seeing the "trouble" once it showed up; especially if it was big enough to get the CIA all growling and snarling at the guys who were about to risk their necks to go get their info for them.

They came to a vantage point several hundred yards to the rear left side of the older building. They paused there for Sweetwater to snap some more shots of the building. Preston looked through his assault rifles scope and scanned the building. All the doors and windows were shut; odd for this time a year, Preston figured they had air conditioners on the roof. In a fenced in yard he spotted a small vegetable garden, the kind a child might plant with his or her parents. Preston wasn't sure of what to make of that, but he kept silent about it. He could just imagine the taunts Sweetwater and Haggard might have in store for him if he called their attention to a small garden, eventually Preston figured it was planted out of boredom by one of the inhabitants of the building. He couldn't get a visual of anyone inside the building though, most of the windows had their blinds down, others were draped and the rest were empty. Preston was also impressed at how well kept the building was. Its design looked at least two or three hundred years old but was updated and kept looking fresh.

Sweetwater had just finished placing the camera back in his pack and Sarge was ordering Preston to get on point, when the familiar crackle of automatic gunfire broke tranquil silent back ground of the forest. All four turned their heads in the direction of the gunfire, about a mile or so away from the rear of the old building. "Sarge?" Sweetwater asked worriedly.

"What in the hell was that?" Redford asked rhetorically.

"Shoot, Sarge your age must be catching up to you," said Haggard. "We've only been away from the front lines a few days now and you've done and forgot what gunfire sounds like," he finished with a grin.

Sarge looked at Haggard and sneered. "Fine then Haggard since you're so damn smart all of a sudden; you're on point for this one. Squad, let's move. Whatever we're here to spy on the Italians for, half my lousy ass paycheck says it's over there," he said nodding in the direction of the gunfire.

Haggard sighed and shook his head. "Great job Sweets, your negativity has become contagious," he said as he moved to the head of the squad.

"Well, maybe if you'd learn when to shut the-" Sweetwater began his comeback.

"Sweetwater do you seriously think you're in any position to talk here?" Redford asked loudly. Sweetwater lowered his head and went silent. "Everyone check your weapons, from the sound of things this could get ugly," he ordered as the rattle of automatic weapons crackled off and on.

Preston recognized the pattern; it had to be a firing range. But why would there be a firing range right beside a non-military facility. All firing ranges are at least nearby some kind of medical facility, in case of accidental injuries, this was a non-military Italian government medical facility; owned by the Social Welfare Agency, the CIA told them in their briefing. As far as the CIA knew the Social Welfare Agency (SWA) was a medical corporation bought out by the Italian government, allegedly being on the cutting edge of medical research and technology. "Why in the hell, would a medical agency be running a firing range?" Preston silently asked himself. Finding no answer for himself, he sighed and continued following behind Haggard.

The squad made their way through the trees and bushes, the sound of gunfire becoming louder and clearer as they came closer. When they were about a mile away from the source of the gunshots Sarge ordered the squad to halt and take cover. They all hunched down behind a short mound of rocks near a small clearing in the trees, giving them a far off view of the firing range. It was walled all around by ten foot concrete. Dummy buildings and obstacles were visible from over the top of the wall but it was too far off to get a visual of the shooters with their own eyes. "Sweetwater you're up," Sarge said with a nod. "I hope that camera has a decent zoom in setting."

"Don't worry Sarge," Sweetwater said cheerfully. "Say whatever you want about the CIA, but they have some really sweet toys to play with," he said as he fished the camera out of his pack. He brought the camera up to his face and looked through the sight. Sweetwater thumbed the zoom knob to the max and scanned the range. "It's definitely a firearms training range," said Sweetwater after scanning for about half a minute. "Still no visual on the shooters though, the walls and the trees are in the way. Is it alright if I get a little closer?" he asked. Redford nodded.

Sweetwater climbed over the mound of rocks they were all crouching behind and moved about ten yards down hill, taking position behind a boulder. He scanned a few moments longer. "Still no visual Sarge, I...wait!" Sweetwater froze in mid-sentence. A hush fell over the entire squad.

"What do you see Sweetwater?" asked Redford. "Is it the shooters?"

Sweetwater was quiet, too quiet. Sweetwater being this quiet couldn't be good. Much as the rest of the squad had and would tease him about how much he talked even they could tell Sweetwater was staring down the sight of that camera at something that either shocked him beyond words or scared him speechless. Either way it meant trouble. Sweetwater finally broke his own silence. "No," he gasped. He pulled the camera away from his eyes and squeezed his eyes shut really hard then opened them again and peered through the camera again. "It can't be...how could they...the rumors were true!" Sweetwater was almost whispering, but the whole squad could hear.

"What are you talking about Sweets?" asked Haggard. "What do you see?"

"Damn it, Sweets. Do you see the shooters?" Redford asked, getting annoyed. Preston was silent. He had a suspicious feeling that whatever was making him and Sweetwater feel nervous about this mission was now plain in Sweetwater's sight.

"Yes, I see the shooters Sarge," the half traumatized soldier finally answered. "But...I kinda wish I hadn't," Sweetwater said as he continued to stare at whatever he saw. Sweetwater suddenly jerked backward, pulling the camera down from his face. "Oh Shit," he gasped. "Sarge, I think one of them saw me!"

"Impossible, they're a mile away," replied Sarge. Just then the loud and heavy thump of a sniper rifle split the air, shattering the camera in Sweetwater's hands and knocking him over onto his back. Sarge cursed in surprise, the gunshot had taken the whole squad by surprise. Preston brought up his rifle and aimed down at the range but it was too far away for him to see anything with his rifle scope, if only he had a sniper rifle.

Sweetwater screamed in surprise and pain. The fallen soldier clutched tightly at the right side of his chest where the bullet had hit. "Sweets!" Haggard yelled and stood up to go help his fallen comrade.

"I'm alright!" Sweetwater growled loudly, biting back an immense amount of pain. "Stay down, they haven't seen you guys," he shouted urgently.

"To hell with that," yelled Haggard. "We've got to get out of here!"

"No stay back," Sweetwater shouted raising his hand. "You have to-" Sweetwater was cut off by another sniper shot. A bullet ripped past his hand, barely missing it. Sweetwater dropped his hand to the ground instantly.

"Shit! He's right, that sniper's got him zeroed!" Redford shouted.

"We can't just leave him here!" Haggard insisted.

"They'll kill him if we leave him!" Preston broke in.

"You have no choice," said Sweetwater with sad desperation. "You gotta get back to command; the camera's been destroyed so we have no photos. Just tell them that the FRATELLO are real, tell them I made visual confirmation."

"The what?" asked Haggard. "When will you geeks learn to speak plain damn English?"

"What the hell are the FRATELLO?" asked Preston.

"What are you talking about?" Redford demanded.

"There's no time to explain you guys, just get out of here before they spot you. I'll think of something!" Sweetwater shouted with a painful growl on the edge of each word.

"Bullshit!" demanded Haggard. "We ain't leavin without you!"

"What are we gonna do Sarge?" asked Preston still looking down his rifle trying to find a target.

Sarge was silent for a moment. He was staring off into space in deep thought. Redford banged the back of his head against the large rock he crouched behind. "Shit!" he finally growled. "He's right, we've gotta move."

"Hell no, we ain't leaving him here!" yelled Haggard.

"Sarge you can't be serious!" said Preston.

"We've got our orders, we can't engage the Italians and we have to get word back to command," Redford roared at his two subordinates with shame and guilt. "If Sweetwater's FRATELLO shit is legit, command'll send help to get him outa here."

"No, Sarge we can't-" Haggard began.

"We are leaving, NOW!" Redford cut him off and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Just get out of here guys, I'll bullshit them and by command some time," Sweetwater shouted again, his voice fading back to fear and pain.

Sarge more or less dragged Haggard off into the trees. Preston headed after them then turned back. "Stay alive, Sweetwater!" he called to him painfully. Preston turned and started running after Redford and Haggard, he knew better than to look back this time. He kept his head low, he figured if Sarge or Haggard looked back they'd think he was ducking bellow the branches and bushes; they'd never notice the drops of water falling off his chin.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: Hello everyone. Here's chapter two. I hope your all enjoying this story and I promise there will be more action in this chapter, just didn't want to start you off with more than you could handle. Enjoy and please review.

Preston sat on a boulder just on the edge of a clearing about twenty miles away from the Italian government complex they'd been sent to spy on. Haggard was standing a few yards away from him looking restless and frustrated. Preston knew the feeling, sitting down was the only thing he could do to keep himself from running back to the damn facility and shooting up the place; he was not happy. Sarge's voice ranting and raving at command on the radio didn't help to put his mind at ease. Redford had already told Command about the FRATELLO, whatever that was, but they seemed far more interested in getting them out of there.

As much as they all liked to torment Sweetwater and as much as none of them would admit it out loud, they all had grown to like Sweets and even admire him. The man was probably in the custody of the SWA by now and considering the entire complex was guarded by armed military guards and also seemed to be a training facility (and a secret one at that) it didn't mean anything good for Sweetwater. He was a foreign soldier on Italian government property, unauthorized and armed. The Italians were within their rights to consider him a terrorist and/or spy; which also meant they were within rights to shoot him where he lay. Preston knew, however, that they wouldn't.

Sweetwater wasn't wearing anything on his uniform that would pin him as a US Army soldier but even if he was fluent in Italian (which he was) there was no way he could pass off as an Italian national and all the military gear would at least peg him as a mercenary. Command made certain to tell them not to wear their dog tags or any US military patches on their uniforms and to use non-army issue weapons; Sweetwater was armed with an MG-3 (modern remodel of the German MG-42 of WW2) as opposed to his usual government issued weapon the M-247. Haggard had an old soviet model shotgun with pistol grip, instead of the US model. Redford was sporting a P-90 and Preston was carrying an AUG with grenade launcher. All just to complete their disguise.

Preston couldn't bear to think what the Italians could be doing to him. They were probably up to no good as is, thus probably wouldn't mind violating prisoner treatment protocol to get to the bottom of Sweetwater being there. They could be beating him, electrocuting him, or using any number of interrogation methods on him. None of his squad members ever thought Sweetwater to be particularly tough, but tough or not everyone had a breaking point. The most frustrating part of the whole thing was that all Preston could do right now was sit and wait while Redford threw a fit at command and hope that he could convince them to send help to get Sweets out of there. Fat chance.

"Deniability!" roared Redford into the radio speaker by his mouth. "The man was a damn desk jockey before Bad Company! He'll be sure to crack under torture and tell them everything he knows! We need to get him outa there ASAP!" Redford paused for a moment. Preston looked up and saw Redford's eyes widen. "No names on a secured channel! Who the hell is this?" He demanded. Preston and Haggard didn't have their radios on but Sarge's tone didn't suggest any good news. Preston and Haggard turned their radios on to hear what was going on with command. "Well Mr. Smith, I doubt the Special Actions Division will be glad to hear about your lack of appreciation for protocol or your carelessness with its soldiers," said Redford.

"Carelessness? Me?" asked an unfamiliar voice with a razor sharp edge of cockiness. "You're the ones who allowed your position to be compromised. And as far as the Special Actions Division goes, this never happened. Remember?"

"Listen to me you cocky son of a," Redford began.

"No, you listen to me Sergeant!" the unfamiliar voice, Smith, cut him off. "You were all briefed on this. I know, covert ops are all fun and games till you get caught!" Smith was almost ranting now and the arrogance in his voice was gone. "As I recall you gents weren't exactly reluctant to leave the front for this mission, I assume you just wanted a break from the frontlines, well wish granted Soldiers! So unless you want to take that facility all by yourselves, without any help from me or my assets, shut the hell up and wait for the chopper!"

Redford and the others were silent. What more could be said, they knew the risk of a covert op but the Colonel had offered them a mission away from the frontlines and they all went blind. Just for once they wanted a mission that didn't involve dodging sniper fire or anything immediately dangerous. So much for that. Now they had lost a man and weren't going to be able to get him back. Be careful what you wish for, Preston's mother had always told him.

"The chopper won't be there till after dark," Smith was back. "Feel free to double back and watch the facility, they've called off their search. You just might find a window of opportunity," he finished with his cocky edge returned to his voice. The transmission cut off. The squad was silent for a moment, taking in their current predicament and what was said to them.

"Who in Sam Hell was that?" asked Haggard, finally breaking the silence.

"I don't know, some CIA snake named Smith," explained Redford. "The bastard said my name on a secured channel! I take it you both heard all the rest?"

"Damn it!" Preston bellowed as he stood up. "I can't believe this!"

"Wait, that guy said the Italians had called off their search for intruders," said Haggard. "Why don't we take his advice and double back?"

"Are you serious?" asked Redford. "Just the three of us, taking a government facility! We don't even know how many guards are in there or what they've got or where they're keeping Sweets!"

"Yeah but we'd have the drop on em Sarge!" replied Haggard, almost yelling. "We've pulled off these kinda odds before, we can take em!"

"Before, we were at the front we were fighting the Russians; these are the Italians," Redford explained. "You heard Smith. Even if we do go charging in guns blazing and make it out alive with Sweets, do you really think we'd be able to keep it quiet?" he asked. "The Italians will get word out somehow or another and we'll have literally invaded Italy, a sovereign nation! Smith and Command will leave us hangin out to dry on this one!"

Preston couldn't keep quiet anymore. "Damn it Sarge, they'll kill him!" he shouted. Redford and Haggard both turned to Preston. "How can you just leave Sweetwater behind after all we've been through together?" Redford lowered his eyes. "Remember when we were shot down in Russia? I was alone, in an area swarming with Russians and I went after you guys, I ran, drove and shot my way through hundreds of Russian soldiers to save you guys ALONE! And I'd do it again for any one of you!" Haggard and Redford said nothing. "And I'm about to do it again for Sweetwater," Preston finished as he turned towards the woods and started walking.

Redford opened his mouth to speak but before he could, Haggard racked his shotgun. "Sorry to leave you hangin Sarge," said Haggard. "But me and Marlowe have to go rescue a nerdy, loud mouthed, brainiac called our friend" he explained and turned to follow Preston. A few seconds later Preston and Haggard heard Redford chamber a round behind them, they both froze.

"You two idiots ain't goin nowhere," said Redford. Preston was about to say something about how Sarge would have to shoot him in the back to stop him but stopped short when he heard Redford's footsteps approaching him from behind. "Not without me," Redford finished as he passed Preston and walked into the woods ahead, in the direction of the SWA buildings. Preston smiled.

"Hells yeah Sarge! Let's show these spaghetti slurpin Italians what happens when you mess with Bad Company!" Yelled Haggard, he finished with a very Texan YEE HA!

It didn't take them long to make their way back to their first vantage point of the SWA facility. There were a few quad bikes roving the area closer to the fence around the main building (the older one) but it was getting too dark for any of the three men to be worried, especially from their distance. "Well they've stepped up security a little bit," said Redford. "But that shouldn't matter once it gets a little darker. I figure our best bet is to start with the main building and probably the basement if there is one. We get in as quick and quiet as we can, we find Sweets and then we get the hell outa there anyway we can. This is the big time guys, they will shoot us on site and Uncle Sam will deny all knowledge. They probably won't even try to save our asses if we DO get out of this alive! Our last chance soldiers, any second thoughts from you guys?"

"Hells no!" answered Haggard.

"None from me, Sarge, how about you?" replied Preston.

Redford turned toward Preston. "You really think I'd go off on that retirement fishing trip knowing that I'd have left Sweetwater to burn?" asked Redford, almost growling.

Preston lowered his head for a second, ashamed. He looked up with a slight grin. "Well I'm not gonna lie to you, Sarge, you did have us worried there for a second," he answered.

Redford turned to Haggard and looked at him in question. Haggard smiled and held up his thumb and index finger about half an inch apart. "You do talk and awful lot about that Fishin trip Sarge," said Haggard as he lowered his hand.

"Fine then," said Redford. "You two can just stay home while me and Sweetwater enjoy that fishing trip ourselves," he said indignantly.

Preston's grin grew into a smile. "That's a harsh punishment, Sarge," he said.

"That's too bad, I was in the mood for blue marlin tonight," said Haggard with a laugh.

Within the hour, the sun had gone down and the three man squad moved in on the facility. They waited in the dark for about half an hour to make sure their eyes were adjusted to the night; on most missions they would have brought night vision goggles but in this case they were supposed to be gone long before the sun went down. It also helped that it was the middle of summer and the sun being down also meant that it was getting late and most employees of the complex would be off duty by now. The three men walked as carefully and quietly as they could through the forest, not wanting to stir up a calmed hornet's nest. The entire complex was gated in by an iron bar fence, but Haggard had spotted a drop in the ground under the fence earlier which was almost big enough for a man to squeeze under. Haggard dug with his gloved hands until it was wide enough for him to slip under, Redford and Preston slipped under after him. They climbed through another patch of trees and found themselves right in front of the vegetable garden they had spotted while observing the facility earlier. They paid it no mind and crept slowly but surely toward a side entrance to the building.

Preston entered the building first sweeping the hallway looking down the sights of his AUG. Not seeing anyone, he signaled Redford and Haggard with a thumbs up and continued down the hallway of the building as carefully as he could. As the squad made their way down the hall, they were all relieved to not see any security cameras. Whatever the building was used for, the SWA seemed to not be worried about intrusion at all. The interior was well kept and looked sophisticated enough to be a high society hotel. Preston couldn't help but imagine what jargon and comments the squad would have to make if they weren't infiltrating the place and if they had Sweetwater with them. After a minute or two they reached the end of the hallway into a lounge area with lavish couches and cushioned chairs even a large TV set and coffee table. The lounge was dimly lit by a lamp next to a cushioned chair on which a man was sleeping. He wore a black mess Kevlar vest over a white collared shirt, was wearing black dress pants and a black ball cap with the word SICUREZZA embroidered in white on it. Sweetwater was the only one of the squad fluent in Italian but the team had been briefed on enough of the language to know that the man asleep on the couch was in fact a security guard.

"Thank God for lousy watch standers," Preston thought to himself. Preston entered the room first and looked over his shoulder to Redford. He pointed to the sleeping security guard and Redford entered the room and nodded. He slung his P-90 over his shoulder and drew his knife. Haggard entered the room with his back to the others, keeping watch down the hallway they had just traversed, he looked over his shoulder to Redford who returned his gaze. Haggard nodded and trained his eyes down the sight of his shotgun to keep watch of their exit route. Preston moved to the other end of the room which opened up into a lobby area. He peeked out and saw a large glass booth at the far end of the lobby, where the main entrance to the building was. Inside it he could see a small TV set, alight with some sport channel playing, and the back of another security guards head. Confident that the guard in the booth wasn't going to interrupt them he turned back to Redford and nodded in approval.

Redford gripped his knife firmly as he softly stepped closer and closer to his unsuspecting victim. He readied his empty left hand when he was right on top of the sleeping guard. In a swift fluent motion he brought his left hand down and clasped down hard on the guards mouth and brought his knife up to the man's throat. The man's eyes shot open and he didn't even have enough time to grunt before he felt Redford's knife pressing against his jugular and realized it was in his best interests to not resist the uniformed black man above him. Redford leaned downward so his captive was looking straight into his eyes.

"English?" Redford whispered. The guard nodded. "Where is the soldier you assholes captured earlier?" Redford lightened his grip on the man's mouth but pressed the side of his knife even harder against his neck. The guard choked in a breath of air, he'd been his breath.

"Basement," the guard answered, also whispering. "Door is on other side of lobby, to the right."

"No bullshit?" Redford asked.

"No," said the guard.

"Good," said Redford. He pulled his knife away from the guard's throat and placed it in its holster on his jacket. The guard sighed with relief. Redford then pulled a syringe out of his jacket pocket and injected it into the man's neck. The guard cringed and shook from the pain of the needle but quickly passed out. All four of the squad members had been issued a sedative syringe during the mission briefing, in case they ended up in a tight spot and needed to subdue an Italian without doing anything that might violate certain treaties. Redford looked to Preston. Preston nodded, having heard what the guard said.

Preston peeked out into the lobby again and was relieved to see no security cameras scanning the lobby. The squad made their way across the lobby quickly and quietly, the lobby was very impressive; chandelier, classic artwork hung on the walls and even red carpet. Preston and the rest of the squad got a high class vibe off the place that was both charming and sickening at the same time. They made it to the stairs and descended into the basement, it was a depressing looking set of concrete prison cells on both sides down a long corridor. The basement was dimly lit by light bulbs along the ceiling. They found Sweetwater on the left side of the corridor three cells down from the stair case. He was lying asleep on the floor, his face was bruised pretty badly; they had had questions to ask him and they'd asked pretty hard. Sweetwater's glasses lay on the floor beside his Kevlar helmet, Preston figured he played it smart and didn't say anything to piss them off.

Preston pulled out his knife and was about to start picking the lock on the cell gate, he had neither training nor any idea how to pick a lock but he figured he'd improvise. He had just slipped the blade into the lock when he felt a tap on his shoulder; he turned and saw a key on a ring held near his face by Redford's hand.

"It was hanging on the wall," explained Redford.

"Oh," replied Preston.

Preston took the key from Redford, replaced his knife in his pocket and opened the cell door. Sweetwater was awaken by the sound of the gate opening and cringed as if he were bracing for a punch to the face.

"Sweets! It's alright it's us!" said Haggard as he pushed past Preston and Redford and knelt beside Sweetwater. "You all right partner?" he asked.

"Guys?" asked Sweetwater as he blinked several times, making sure he was awake. "Holy shit, you guys came for me?"

"Damn straight we did," replied Haggard. He patted Sweetwater on the back as he sat up.

"Oh, thank God!" Sweetwater sighed. "How the hell did you guys get in here?"

"Sloppy security, and a whole lota luck," replied Preston as he handed Sweetwater his helmet and his glasses. He took them gladly and put them on.

"Thanks guys," he said after a long pause, he sounded a little choked up.

"Hell, you thought we were just gonna leave your nerdy ass here?" asked Redford.

"Shoot where would we be without our most valuable asset?" asked Haggard.

"The Brains?" asked Sweetwater, with a cocky grin.

"No, the useless nerdy guy," replied Haggard with a smile. Sweetwater's face twisted in disgust.

"We actually figured the Italian's would need rescuing," remarked Preston. "We figured by now you'd have talked a bullet into all their heads," he finished with a chuckle.

Sweetwater cringed again and opened his mouth to say something back when Haggard clasped his shoulder. "Awe we're just kidding, you knuckle-head!" he said as he drilled his knuckles into the top of Sweetwater's helmet.

"If you children are done playing," Redford broke in. "We need to get the hell outa here and get to the evac site. Assuming the chopper is still there."

"Wait," said Sweetwater. "You guys didn't bring any support? No reinforcements, no air support?" he asked hopefully but with a slight sense of futility to the questions.

"Bad Company, remember?" replied Redford.

Sweetwater's eyes sank. "Awe shit, this is gonna be tricky then," he said. "Look first, off there's a kid two cells down, we gotta get him outa here. He's our best bet at proving this place and the Fratello exist."

"Wait, stop," Redford interrupted. "First of all what the hell are the Fratello, and how is it you know about them?" he asked. They were reasonable questions, if Redford hadn't asked Preston would have.

Sweetwater rolled his eyes. "Look it's a long story guys," he began. "I first learned about it when I was working with Intel, before I got transferred to Bad Company. And one of the guys at Special Actions, who knew me from before reminded me of it before we got on the chopper; even back at Intel I thought it was just a spook story but."

"Just get to the point Sweets," growled Redford. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Yeah Sweetwater," said Preston. "Let us in on it?"

Sweetwater sighed. "It has to do with genetic and biological enhancements," he began. "Enhancing the human body for combat, things like replacing limbs with specially designed synthetics, dulling the brain's sense of pain and brain washing; some have even called it cybornizing."

"Cyborgs?" Preston asked.

"Yeah," Sweetwater answered. "But none of that Hollywood shit, the real deal. Unstoppable killing machines," he explained as he stood up.

"No offense Sweets but I think those Italians bruised a little more than just your face," said Haggard.

"I'm serious guys, this shit is real!" hissed Sweetwater. "The SWA is government funded and on the cutting edge of medical technology. These people have done it they've created cyborg assassins here and have been using them to kill off enemies of the state and not even just terrorists and criminals but bent government and even politicians who haven't done anything wrong but speak out against the current regime," he explained. "This is it! This is the head of the snake here!"

The squad paused in silence for a moment to take in what Sweetwater had just said. They all knew that Italy had been having an increasing problem with terrorists over the past decade; many had argued that that was why the EU had remained neutral in the war with Russia. It had raised more than one eye brow in the United States government, as well as news and conspiracy theorists, that despite Russia invading eastern European nations and inching closer to the main body of the EU; none of the, supposedly, friendly nations had lifted a finger to stop them. The squad had learned about the terrorists attacks in Europe, particularly Italy, from the news and even though attacks reports were growing more and more often the news hadn't implied it being as bad as Africa or the Middle East. If Sweetwater was on the level, either A: Things in Italy were worst then they seemed. Or B: The Italian government was taking advantage of their predicament for some rapid expansions; the wrong kind.

"You sure about this, Sweetwater?" asked Redford. He and Sweetwater's eyes locked.

"More sure than I've ever been about anything Sarge," replied Sweetwater. Redford sighed then nodded.

"Alright squad on your feet," ordered Redford. Preston and Haggard helped Sweetwater to his feet, he nodded to both of them that he was good to walk on his own. He pushed his way past the squad and led them down the corridor to another cell, in which they saw a young blonde haired boy lying asleep on the concrete floor. The boy looked like a teenager, no older than 14; if that. Preston unlocked the cell door and opened it. They boy didn't move a muscle. Sweetwater approached him.

"Pino?" said Sweetwater, the boy lay still. "Pinocchio?" he said and gently shook the boy's shoulder. "Pinocchio, ti va tutto bene?" he said, asking the boy in Italian if he was alright. Preston was just about to make a comment about the boy's name when in the blink of an eye the boy shifted his weight, looped his right arm around Sweetwater's neck and spun him around into a neck lock. The squad stumbled back in surprise but quickly took aim at the boy. Sweetwater remained still, either he'd expected this or was too exhausted of being taken captive to mind it much.

"Whoa, take it easy there kid," said Redford, trying his best to sound passive but not doing a very good job.

"Let Sweets do the talkin Sarge," said Haggard. "The punk probably don't even speak English."

"It's DOESN'T even speak English," snapped the boy. "And the punk speaks it better than you it seems, "he finished.

"Well ain't you a smartie pants, blondie," Haggard snapped back. "Let me tell you right now son, you keep that attitude up and my grammar will be the least of your worries and killin our buddy there isn't gonna tip the odds in your favor neither!"

"Take it easy Pinocchio," Preston broke in. "We're here to help. You have to have heard us talking down the hall right?" he asked. The boy, Pinocchio, looked into Preston's eyes. Preston was at least ten years older than him but the boy had the eyes of a battled hardened veteran. His eyes were cold, calculating and were screaming with the rage and furry of combat.

"I heard," he said. "How do I know I can trust you anymore than the Government?" he asked.

"Well Gee, we have broken into one of their facilities and already knocked out one of their guards!" Haggard raved.

Sweetwater chocked under the boy's elbow. "Pinocchio," he managed to croak through the teenagers strangle hold. "I heard the guards talking earlier when they brought you in here. I know you were adopted by one of Padannia's leaders and that they sold him out to the government!" Sweetwater was starting to speak more clearly, they boy had loosened his grip enough for him to speak. "Listen to us; we can help you avenge your uncle's death. But you need to trust us!" He finished.

"He's telling you the truth kid," said Redford. "The Italian government is doing some jacked up shit up in here and we're on board with that. If you come with us and cooperate we can bring this back to command and expose them to the world for what they've done."

Pinocchio paused for a moment. "His name is Sweetwater," the boy said and nodded to his captive. "What are yours?" he asked.

Redford introduced himself. "You can call me Redford or Sarge. This is Preston and Haggard," he finished pointing to them respectively.

Pinocchio paused again in thought. The boy's face seemed to lighten slightly. "Redford?" he finally asked. "I want to trust you, but how can I?"

"What choice do you got son?" Redford answered. "You kill Sweetwater we either kill you or slam this door shut on you and leave you to rot. Come with us and you at least have a chance," he finished.

Pinocchio thought for a moment longer, looking from Redford to Preston to Haggard to Sweetwater and back to Redford. Then with slight sigh he released Sweetwater, who slumped limply to the floor, and stood up.

"Alright Redford, I will trust you," he said.

"A wise decision," said Redford approvingly. Sweetwater stumbled to his feet.

"Dang Sweets, you just got your ass kicked by a twelve year old!" Haggard teased.

"I won't tell if you won't," replied Sweetwater.

"You won't tell what?" asked Haggard.

"That you got called out on grammar by a twelve year old Italian boy," Haggard's eyes dropped.

"Lock it up, all of you!" ordered Redford. "We need to get out of here now!"

"One last thing!" said Sweetwater. He made his way out of the cell and down the corridor to a large black trunk on the floor next to the stairway to the first floor. He opened it hurriedly and gingerly pulled his MG-3 out of it. Sweetwater ran a hand over it like it was a priceless heirloom. He then turned to see the rest of the squad and Pinocchio had caught up with him. "I like this gun," he said with a smirk.

"What about me?" asked Pinocchio from the rear of the squad. They all turned to him.

"What about you?" Haggard repeated.

"I need a gun," explained Pinocchio.

"Hell's to the no!" demanded Haggard. "We got this covered kid, you just stay low and leave the soldiering to the professionals!" he said.

"I've killed plenty of men in my life," said Pinocchio.

"Yeah, I'm sure you have," Haggard sneered.

"No Haggard, he's right," said Sweetwater before Haggard could go on. "I heard the guards talking about him earlier, he's knows what he's doing and we're gonna need all the help we can get here."

Redford sighed and rubbed his temple. "Alright, Haggard give him your side arm," he said. Haggard opened his mouth to say something.

"Let it go Haggs," said Preston grudgingly. He didn't like the idea of arming a kid either, but considering what the Italians were capable of things could get pretty ugly.

"The hell with that!" roared Haggard. "This little whippersnapper's-"

"That's an order," growled Redford. "And keep your God Damn voice down!" Haggard grumbled in protest but grudgingly jerked his pistol out of its holster and handed it to Pinocchio. The boy looked over it, checked the magazine, chambered a round and nodded with approval. "Alright, squad move out," Redford ordered. "Preston take point, back the way we came" he finished, lowering his voice.

Preston nodded and carefully made his way up the stairway. He opened the door to the first floor first checking right then exiting the door and spinning to the left, facing the way the way they came. Preston froze in his tracks, training and combat experience had prepared him almost anything. This wasn't anything. There he was looking down the sights of his AUG assault rifle into the eyes of a confused little girl with long black hair.


End file.
